


History Books Forgot About Us

by anger_ieJ9



Series: Stucky Playlist [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 16:44:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5341244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anger_ieJ9/pseuds/anger_ieJ9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve felt the bed shift behind him and rolled to look back. Bucky had a slice of bread slicked with peanut butter hanging from his mouth and a pair of Steve’s sweatpants hanging from his hips. He got his legs under the blanket and sat against the headboard as he chewed slowly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	History Books Forgot About Us

**Author's Note:**

> This one gained by playing "Samson" by Regina Spektor on repeat in the background.

                Steve felt the bed shift behind him and rolled to look back. Bucky had a slice of bread slicked with peanut butter hanging from his mouth and a pair of Steve’s sweatpants hanging from his hips. He got his legs under the blanket and sat against the headboard as he chewed slowly. Steve rolled the rest of the way around, resting his head on Bucky’s thigh. Bucky draped his arm across Steve’s shoulder, hand on his head; he didn’t pet, he just rested the warmth of his hand there.

                When they were kids, when they were old enough to think they weren’t kids anymore, they would lay like this and Steve would try not to die, and Bucky would rub his back and play with his hair, and they’d pretend it wasn’t odd for two young men to be so intimate. Bucky used to hum or read while they sat there, and Steve would fall asleep that way and wake up with his back to Bucky’s front under the blankets. These days when Steve woke up, Bucky was gone.

                Bucky showed up asking Steve to cut his hair. He shoved a pair of general purpose scissors, more like fabric shears than salon scissors, in Steve’s hands and sat himself down in the yellow light of the kitchen. When Steve asked him, “You sure, Buck?” his response had been a mumble and neither was sure if it was English, so Steve did his best. Bucky didn’t quite look like he used to; Steve was out of practice, but Bucky said he’d done it alright and went away to shower while Steve finished his evening routines.

Steve laid down and waited. Bucky came back to bed, a hard mix that hurt the eyes. His hair was short, not much hair left when it’d been so long just an hour ago, and he’d swept it to the side to get it off his forehead. Steve was stuck there, mentally, and stuck in 1939 when Bucky would come home after a long night out with girls and he’d be all swept up like a hurricane, his hair going every way but his eyes only going to Steve as he climbed into bed beside him. His hair was short like that now, and his chest bare again but gnarled by scars and heavy with the gleam of metal. Steve was stuck on that, too, mentally, stuck in last year when Bucky wasn’t himself and the Winter Soldier did its best to kill him with that hammer of a fist.

His arm had the potential of a weapon still, but Bucky’s fingers peeled back the sheets delicately so he could crawl into bed with legs clothed in Steve’s pajamas. Not ever had Bucky been able to wear Steve’s clothes; he couldn’t have fit his left arm in them way back when, and since his transformation and the War, they never had a reason. Steve was stuck on that, mentally. This here was Bucky, but he was also the Winter Soldier, but wasn’t either one really.

“What are frowning about? Does it look that bad?” Bucky asked, running his gentle metal fingers through his hair. Steve smiled, a weak little thing.

“Just thinking,” he answered. “We’re in history books, you know that? We’re part of the national curriculum. We’ve even got an exhibit at the Smithsonian, for God’s sake.”

“You mean, you’ve got-“

“Shut it,” Steve said, leveling him a look that interrupted him well before his words did. “I mean. You go up to any stranger on the street, and ask them about Captain America or Bucky Barnes, and they’ll have something to say. But they’ll never know that you used to feed the stray cats in the alley behind our old apartment. Or how well you can sing, but it makes you shy so you won’t do any more than hum if you think anyone can hear you. Or that you like creamy peanut butter better than crunchy.” He stopped suddenly, realizing how silly he sounded, but Bucky didn’t look like he thought it was silly. Steve took a deep breath, sighed, and shrugged.

 “All these people all over the world that love you and study your history and everything, and in it all it’s like they forgot all about us,” Bucky said, continuing Steve’s thought for him, just like Steve could always rely on him to do. “Those history books forgot about us,” he repeated. He shuffled himself down until he was lying beside Steve under the quilt. “They can think what they want,” he admitted softly without looking up at Steve, “I loved you first.” Steve could see he was embarrassed to say it, but he couldn’t keep himself from smiling, so he twisted and leaned across the mattress to switch off the lamp.

In the dark, Steve touched Bucky’s face and hair and smiled as much as he liked. He kissed him, and he kissed him, and he kissed him, and they kissed until Steve could see Bucky’s face again, lit softly by the dawn through the window.

**Author's Note:**

> What? Twice in the same month? What's going on.


End file.
